


My Days Are Overlapping

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: Birds of Prey (TV), DCU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even superheroes get bored, and have to find new ways to entertain themselves outside of crime fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Days Are Overlapping

Helena slipped through the shadows of Gotham’s rooftops, her movement fluid like the very darkness itself, the only sound she made the soft swishing of the fabric of her duster as it billowed out behind her in the hot night breeze. The man walked, unawares, through the alleys below, pausing to look back over his shoulder every now and again, and she stalked his every move in the gloom of dusk.

She ducked behind a stone gargoyle when the man stopped, glancing around as he opened a door and disappeared into the building opposite. Cautiously, she moved to the ledge of the roof and peered into the gathering dimness, through clotheslines hung between the two outer walls and past fire escapes burdened with houseplants and dishes of food laid out for the city’s stray cats.

“I thought we were working together, Huntress,” a low voice said from just behind her, masculine, smooth with just a thrilling hint of gruffness to it. Helena didn’t bother to recoil or react to her surprise. “Has something changed?” he asked, and she was aware of more than just professional irritation in his tone; there was also something akin to apprehension and jealousy there as well.

“We still are, Reese,” she responded quietly, her voice not without a hitch of amusement as her eyes remained on the opposite building, following her prey’s progress through the windows, his form backlight by the soft glow of lamps within. “This was something I had to do on my own. How did you follow me anyway?”

“Luck,” Jesse replied honestly, grinning as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I was in the neighborhood and I’ve gotten used to looking for you up here. So, what exactly did this perp do anyway?” he prompted, perching his—Helena couldn’t help but notice—firm and shapely backside against the ledge.

Helena grunted, rolling her slender, lithe shoulders in a slightly vexed way. “He… left me a crappy tip.”

Jesse waited a moment, perhaps thinking that there was more to the story, a counterfeited bill perhaps; or possibly he fell silent just because her answer took him by surprise, confused him. Either way, it served only to sour Helena’s mood further. She screwed her face up in annoyance when he began to laugh, going so far as to actually slap his knee. “That’s it?” he hooted. “He has a meta costumed avenger following him because… he’s a tight wad?” His hilarity deepened when she attempted to shush him.

“I work very hard,” she said defensively. “I don’t exactly make a living at all this dark avenging, you know? And when some guy is all hands-y with me and then leaves whatever spare change he has in his pocket….” She clucked her tongue in disgust but even as she spoke, her disposition was improving with his mirth. She even began to chuckle herself, her temperament becoming playful as she leaned against the ledge beside him, bracing her elbows and forearms against the smooth stone, still clinging to what coolness could be found in the humid, temperate night.

“Slow night?” he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Oh yeah,” she answered with a wide grin, looking coyly back over her shoulder at him. “You?”

“Better believe it,” he said, nodding his head vehemently. “Of course,” he began, a roguish grin spreading across his face as he cleared his throat. “Of course, you know, there’s better ways to break the tedium.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, standing up straight again and bumping the side of her thigh into his knee. “And what would those be?” He was on his feet in an instant, putting his large, warm hands on her slim hips as he moved closer. The night seemed to grow ever hotter until it was a pulsating supernova against her skin and the barest of breezes felt like a scorching wind kisses at her senses.

“You know,” he told her, his voice soft, nearly a growl as he bowed a head to steal a kiss. His lips were rough, tasting vaguely of salt, his tongue a heated caress against hers. Her hands explored the muscular shape of his chest, sliding beneath the thick cotton of his t-shirt to feel the sweat-slickened skin. His movements were graceful, if not as fluid as her own, and his taut build seemed to ripple beneath her hungry touch and the pinch of her manicured fingernails.

Their kisses became more urgent, the perspiration clinging to her skin in the sultry night, running in rivulets down her neck where he put his mouth to taste the moisture, his tongue lashing out against the pulse in her jaw, the crook of her neck and shoulder, the hollow at the base of her throat. Grasping her hips more firmly, he urged her into him, their bodies colliding; her arms entwined around his neck, she lifted her legs and clasped them around his waist as his hands worked her small shirt up over her belly, her breasts. She felt her back crash up against brick, knew that he was forcing her up against a wall as his fingers made quick work of the fastening of her leather slacks.

He never fails to amaze or impress with his prowess or imagination. Her own had been working overtime as of late, in those moments she wasn’t with him. Barbara called her distracted; Dinah just rolled her eyes in revulsion and walked away. When she trained, working up a sweat, she’d imagine his mouth exploring her modest curves, his tongue lapping gently at her exposed flesh as he was doing now. Working in the bar, she’d look at a stool and all of a sudden she’d be imagining herself balanced upon it, legs spread, that clever tongue of his working its way into her moist folds, devouring her slowly, kissing her most private places.

When she was with him though, it was a completely different game. His presence held the promise of those things she only fantasized about otherwise. There was the time in the park, running through the sprinklers; and again in the cool waters of the lake, night swimming, skinny-dipping. Things had changed between them since the Clock Tower and Dr. Quinzel, and Helena would definitely have called it a positive transformation.

She gasped against his mouth when she felt his cock, rigid and erect, swollen to its impressive extent, brush the lips of her sex, moving back and forth as he bathed himself in the juice that flooded from her. Drawing back his hips, he pushed into her, filling her to his hilt with one powerful thrust. Savage sounds rumbled within his chest, reverberating throughout her, converging in the tight place within her belly, coiling with lust and need for release like a snake ready to strike.

Again and again he penetrated her, reaching her deepest of secret depths as they bucked against one another urgently. Her fingernails left thin bloody furrows in his shoulders as she clung to him, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging ruthlessly. His assault is relentless and soon both are tumbling over the edge of the unfathomable precipice of rapture. She cried out as she came, the sound echoing across the rooftops, fading away into the night as he spilled like white hot magma into her, overflowing onto her thighs and into her womb.

They crumpled in an untidy heap to the concrete on the rooftop, his lips kissing her short, silken hair, rough fingertips caressing her cheek as they embraced, chuckling blissfully as they lay entwined, panting. “There are worse ways to spend a slow night,” she said finally, grinning at him as she kissed his mouth. “I think it’s going to be very slow tomorrow, too. Meet you at the playground in Gotham Central?”


End file.
